


Making a fuss

by Aconissa



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anger, Birthday, But not always, Fluff, John is not pleased, M/M, Mycroft is creepy, Pre-Slash, Sherlock is an arse, and likes cake, cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-04
Updated: 2012-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-17 23:10:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/554225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aconissa/pseuds/Aconissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's John's birthday. He knows Sherlock doesn't follow most social conventions, but when the consulting detective forgets his birthday John is hurt. And angry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making a fuss

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first full fanfic. I wrote it for my friend on her birthday, so it ended up being a bit silly and fluffy. This can be seen as pre-slash or just about two men who are best friends (and have a massive involvement in each other's lives). I would really love comments etc.  
> Enjoy!
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://aconissa.tumblr.com/)

John could feel the sun on his face even before he opened his eyes. Warm rays were streaming through his window onto the bed. He stretched lazily, smiling as he realised what day it was. July 7th.

His birthday.

He opened his eyes and lay back against the pillows. He didn’t know why he was excited, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t had birthdays in the past. It had never been that much of a big thing after all. In the army it had been even less important, all he would get were a few cards, and if they weren’t in a difficult position, a cupcake. But it felt different now. He was back in London, for one thing, and now he actually has a group of friends that spent time with him for reasons other than the enforced closeness of army barracks. And he had Sherlock, who, despite his standoffish and detached manner, was his best friend. Though John wasn’t expecting a party, or even a present, he thought Sherlock would at least be nice (well, not horrible) to him today.

He was wrong.

When John finally got downstairs, adjusting his shirt and yawning loudly, Sherlock was nowhere in sight. His latest experiment was still strewn across the kitchen table, and his coat was on the hook, so John began making tea without searching for him.

John was sitting on the sofa with a slice of toast in his hand when his flatmate came in from the bedroom.

‘Morning,’ John said, smiling pleasantly.

No response.

‘I said “morning” Sherlock, normally people acknowledge that in some way,’ he said irritably. Come on, didn’t he at least deserve civility?

Sherlock turned away from where he was pouring water into a beaker. ‘I know.’ He looked John up and down. ‘Your point is?’

John sighed. ‘I don’t have a point. I just thought you might be polite for a change.’

Sherlock looked at him with actual confusion. ‘Why would I spontaneously change my behaviour without reason? I may be irregular in my habits, but I do not change my personality on a whim.’

‘No,’ John growled, ‘I suppose not.’ He was surprised by how annoyed he was getting. What had he expected, seriously? Birthday wishes and a hug?

 _This is Sherlock_ , he had to remind himself, _don’t be so daft. Odds are he deleted your birthday anyway._

Somehow that wasn’t helpful.

When he looked back up, Sherlock had seated himself at the kitchen table, and was carefully mixing the water and a bright green solution together.

‘Sherlock,’ John said slowly, ‘do you know what today is?’

The consulting detective sighed loudly and turned to look at John.

‘July 7th. Why is that significant?’

John narrowed his eyes. ‘You really don’t know,’ he said acidly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the obvious statement. ‘John, could you just be quick and tell me? You obviously want to, and I’ve got much better things to do than discuss whatever this is with you.’

Something in John snapped.

‘Oh, so what I have to say doesn’t matter?’ he shouted.

Sherlock seemed surprised by John’s reaction, but instead of asking the reason he began to get angry in turn. ‘Very rarely,’ he replied, his voice condescending and icy.

John muttered a few curses under his breath. ‘I don’t deserve this, not today,’ he whispered to himself. He got up and grabbed his jacket.

‘Where are you going?’ Sherlock demanded.

‘To work. I’m obviously just getting in your way, so I might as well leave.’ At the door he turned back. ‘You know Sherlock, I’ve put up with your behaviour for a while. I’m used to it. But for some strange reason I thought that today, just today, you might actually be friendly to me, rather than an absolute _arse_!’

‘And why would _that_ be?’ Sherlock shouted back.

‘Because it’s my bloody birthday!’ John yelled, slamming the door before he could see the look of realisation on Sherlock’s face.

~0~

The day did not improve much from that point. When he arrived at the surgery, the foyer was already filled with patients waiting to be seen. Cindy, the receptionist, wished him a ‘happy birthday’ gruffly as he passed, but other than that he had little contact with his colleagues until the lunch break.

When he entered the staffroom, he was met with a two-person chorus of ‘Happy Birthday!’ He smiled as his eyes rested upon Sarah and another doctor (whose name he thought began with ‘M’) whose lunch hour had corresponded with his. On the table was a small chocolate cake, looking slightly inedible. He grinned anyway, thanking them warmly. They sat down to eat the cake together, John ignoring the Sainsbury’s packaging poking out of the bin.

‘So,’ Sarah began, ‘have anything planned?’

John shook his head. ‘Probably just have take-out and watch telly.’

She raised he eyebrows. ‘Exciting.’

He chuckled. ‘Yeah yeah, I know. But Harry’s in Glasgow. She’s the only one that makes a fuss on my birthday.’

‘What about Sherlock?’

John sighed. ‘He forgot. I thought he might remember it, but it’s Sherlock. Of course he wouldn’t.’

Sarah patted his arm affectionately. ‘He _is_ your best friend, John. I know he’s – ’ she stopped herself, trying to phrase the next part carefully ‘ – _unorthodox_ , but it’s his job to give you present and “make a fuss”.’

‘Yeah, well, he didn’t.’ John could hear the bitterness in his voice. Sarah was silent as she ate the cake, trying not to look at his face. He felt bad for making her feel uncomfortable. They’d only broken up two months ago; it was unfair of him to burden her with his problems.

‘Sorry. Bad morning.’ He tried to smile as convincingly as possible, but it came out a bit flat. Sarah’s answering smile did not touch her eyes.

~0~

John was exhausted by the time he stepped out of the taxi in front of 221B. It was 6pm, and he had spent the afternoon dealing with a series of children, all of whom had gastroenteritis. Needless to say, he was seriously regretting the cake at lunch.

He stood for a moment on the front steps, searching for his keys in the pockets of his jacket. Finally finding them, he pushed the key into the lock with a bit of force, turning it and pushing the door open.

It was quiet. Closing the door, John began the slow ascent to his and Sherlock’s flat. The step creaked as he stood upon it.

Reaching the door, he pushed it open.

To find his flat. Just as he left it.

John sighed. Had he been expecting otherwise? Seriously?

Bypassing the living room entirely, he walked into the kitchen, heading straight for the kettle. Without thinking, he filled it with water and stood by the sink, waiting for it to boil.

‘You can’t be serious.’

John whirled around, startled by the deep baritone of Sherlock’s voice. The consulting detective was standing by the door to the living room, which now stood slightly ajar. Despite his sarcastic tone, he was smirking, obviously amused by something.

Before John could reply, he heard someone whisper from behind door. ‘Sherlock! What are you doing?’

It was Lestrade’s voice.

‘Um…’ John stood motionless as Sherlock slid the door open completely, revealing the living room.

Which was filled with people.

He was greeted by an ill-timed chorus of ‘Surprise!’

John’s face went from confused to happy incredibly quickly.

‘Happy birthday John,’ Sherlock said quietly. John looked away from the group of people and looked at him.

‘Was this… did you…?’

‘Lestrade forced me,’ he replied, looking away.

The Detective Inspector laughed. ‘Liar. He came to the Yard this morning, all agitated, asking me what “ordinary people” do on birthdays. I thought he might be on drugs.’

John’s smile widened as Sherlock started to go pink. ‘Really?’

Sherlock coughed, looking away. John chuckled.

He looked back towards the crowd of people. There weren’t very many people there, but Sherlock had managed to get together every one who counted, other than Harry. The Yarders were there – Lestrade of course, as well as Sally, Dimmock and even (he was surprised to note), Anderson; Mike Stamford and Molly had both come from Bart’s; Mrs. Hudson on the sofa smiling; his fellow veteran, Bill Murray; even Mycroft.

John beamed at them, then turned to Sherlock again. His smile relaxed into something calmer as he said, ‘Thank you.’

Sherlock smiled briefly, then frowned. ‘So… you’re not mad?’

Quietly John replied, ‘Not anymore.’

~0~

After everyone had filled themselves with cake, Mycroft especially, John sat on the sofa to open his gifts.

The first was rectangular, thick, and wrapped (badly) with blue paper. Inside was a copy of the most recent ‘Official English League Football Records’ from Lestrade.

‘This way you’ll be able to make up for what you missed when you were in Afganistan,’ the DI said.

John laughed, remembering several instances when his lack of knowledge had caused Greg to get _very_ annoyed with him. ‘Cheers, mate.’

He moved on to the next present, which Sally informed him was a joint gift from herself and Anderson.

‘ “John Bailey's Beginner's Guide to Fishing”,’ John read out. ‘Thanks for that,’ he said sarcastically. The pair grinned.

Dimmock handed him a small box. Inside was a set of good quality ear plugs.

‘In case he won’t shut up,’ he said, gesturing to Sherlock, who huffed.

Mike and Molly had put together a first aid kit, which John was pleased to see prepared him for anything Sherlock could do.

At first John thought Bill’s gift was just a blank photo album, but when he opened it he found photographs of himself and his army mates back in Helmand Province, Afghanistan. It made John a bit sad, seeing a younger, tanned version of himself in his army uniform. ‘That’s really thoughtful, Bill,’ he said, his voice a bit hoarse.

‘No problem, mate,’ Bill replied, clapping him on the back.

As he cleared his throat, John picked up a box covered in floral wrapping paper. John looked to Mrs Hudson, who smiled. Inside the box was an assortment of homemade biscuits.

‘Oh, brilliant!’ John exclaimed, much to his landlady’s delight.

‘Make sure to share them with Sherlock, dear,’ she said, noticing her other tenant’s longing stare.

‘Will do,’ John replied, setting the box aside carefully.

A sleek black box was placed in front of him. Though he didn’t have Sherlock’s deductive abilities, John instantly knew it was from Mycroft.

Which meant he shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was by what lay inside.

‘It’s a leather wallet,’ John said incredulously. ‘A _Gucci_ leather wallet.’

The elder Holmes smirked at his reaction. ‘I noticed that your current one was falling apart, so I took the opportunity to get you a sufficient replacement.’

‘But… this has to be _at least_ two-hundred pounds!’ He replied.

Mycroft grimaced slightly. ‘ _Hardly_. Closer to four.’

It was a few moments before John could speak. He finally looked away from the wallet and up at Mycroft, who looked bored. Besides Sherlock, everyone else was looking at the politician with open mouths.

Then John realised something.

‘Um… how did you know I needed a new wallet?’

Mycroft sighed irritably. ‘I told you, I noticed that yours was falling apart and –’

‘No,’ John interrupted him, ‘I mean, _how_ did you notice that? I haven’t seen you in several months.’

Sherlock chuckled from the corner. ‘You underestimate the extent of my brother’s interference in our lives.’

John’s eye’s widened with realisation. He turned to Mycroft. ‘CCTV? You stalk me using the _CCTV_?’

Mycroft frowned. ‘Don’t exaggerate, John. I do not _stalk_ you. I merely keep track of your activities.’

This didn’t help.

‘Creepy,’ John heard Sally mutter.

Trying to distract himself from that unpleasant bit of information, John pulled the final present towards him.

As John began to peel away the wrapping, Sherlock sat forward, watching intently.

Inside were two things. One small box and a metal plate.

‘Read it out,’ Sherlock said, gesturing to what John could now see was a sign. He held it up to the light.

‘ “ Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson, M.D. Detective Consultancy”,’ he said slowly. For a moment, everyone was quiet.

‘It’s for our door,’ Sherlock finally said. He sounded quiet, hesitant, as if he feared John’s reaction.

‘Sherlock... Wow.’ He looked up at his best friend, his eyes getting wet. ‘This is… _thank you_. This is wonderful.’

Sherlock’s face broke into a wide grin. ‘Look in the box.’

Carefully placing the sign on their coffee table, John lifted the lid from the small box. Inside were at least a hundred business cards, bearing the same words as the sign, as well as their address, phone number, Sherlock’s website and John’s blog.

John was smiling widely. He looked back up.

‘How did you do this? I mean, you didn’t realise it was my birthday until this morning. How did you get these made so fast?’

Sherlock looked briefly guilty at the mention of his mistake, then smug as he answered. ‘I solved a case for a man a few years back. At the time he was a waiter, but now he does signs and business cards for companies. He agreed to make these immediately.’

John laughed. ‘It’s perfect,’ he said, pulling Sherlock into an awkward one-armed hug.

 

THE END


End file.
